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Loren'drethil Moonblaze
|race= Highborne |gender=Male |age=10,753 |height= 7'8 |weight= Slim |birthplace =Eldre'thalas |residence=Eldre'thalas |guild=Keepers of the Moon |affiliations=Thor Delar Secret Society Shen'drelar Darnassus |alignment=Lawful Neutral |faction=Alliance |factionicon=Alliance |class=Nethermancer }} Loren'drethil Moonblade is a Kaldorei Highborne Nethermancer from the fallen citadel of Eldre'thalas, now commonly known as Dire Maul. In his early life, he found his place as an Associate Professor and Research Fellow at the Eldre'thalas Arcane Arts Academy. During the War of the Ancients, he participated in the defense of the citadel from the Legion's onslaught, alongside the forces commanded by the Ancient Goldrinn and the Kaldorei Resistance. Following the Sundering, Loren'drethil was initiated as a member of the Shen'dralar, and was later spared during the purges ( Circa ~1100 years prior to Vanilla WoW ) as a result. However, he was forced to escape ( Year 20 ) the madness all the same when his wife Celathea Moonblaze, became at risk in the next round of executions. Though their escape was successful, Celathea had been wounded by corrupted Nightmare Lashers in the process and went mad, attempting to murder her companions. In the ensuing chaos, the party was discovered by a patrol of Sentinels and subsequently incarcerated in the Barrow Deeps. When Tyrande Whisperwind raided the Barrow Deeps in her search for Illidan, the magical prison holding Loren'drethil was weakened during the fray and he was able to escape. Making off into the forests of Mount Hyjal, Loren'drethil found refuge in a cave and remained there for months, seeking a way to cure his addiction to magic. His solitude came to an abrupt end, when the Legion found its way to his doorstep once more at the Battle for Mount Hyjal. Joining the Allied Forces in their battle, Loren'drethil took on the appearance of a travelling merchant accompanying the armies following the battle, and travelled with the Sentinel Army, discreetly learning of the changes that had befell Azeroth since his sequestration. His mind however, was fixated on finding more of his people, the Highborne, and to this end he sought out a small refuge of other surviving and exiled Highborne in the land now known as Desolace, using clues they had left for other survivors. There he would remain, rebuilding and recovering with his people in secrecy, until news of reconciliation reached them shortly before the Cataclysm. Loren'drethil found nothing but disappointment in Darnassus, and the rest of contemporary Kaldorei society however. His fears and suspicions were confirmed, and though he understood the need for an official delegation for the Shen'dralar, he was content for others to be the puppets of the Darnassian government. Loren'drethil had other plans for in the mean time, dreams of grandeur and a renewed renaissance for the Kaldorei - pressingly needed in the context of this new world order where the Kaldorei had to compete with numerous other races for supremacy. Acting discreetly, Loren'drethil enlisted in various manners of guilds and orders under assumed identities, seeking to establish connections and build alliances for what he envisaged was to come. In these capacities, he came to work with members of the Alliance on occasion and participate in allied battles around Kalimdor. The Draenei in particular intrigued him, and he came to respect their people for their similaries to his own. In time, Loren'drethil would form the Thor Delar Secret Society, with a mandate to restore the Kaldorei Empire and dominate the rest of the Kalimdor. Though he has gradually become less xenophobic and willing to work with different means to achieve his ends, much of his attention is still dedicated to this cause, and he employs methods both domestic and international to further it. The onset of the Third Invasion of Azeroth and the discovery of Suramar had serious ramifications for his outlook however. Travelling to the Broken Isles at once, he was first lionized by his interactions with the surviving Kaldorei and Nightborne, but the duplicity of the latter along with their failures served a painful and decisive reminder to altering Loren'drethil's imagined Kaldorei Empire. Learning of the Arcan'dor and what it represented, Loren'drethil came to believe it represented the perfect union, the ideal balance that Kaldorei society ought to strive for, and to this end, refocused his efforts on finding a way to replicate this forgotten art. In the aftermath of the Third Invasion of Azeroth, Loren'drethil has taken it upon himself to travel to lands beyond Kalimdor to see what has happened to the rest of the Sundered Continent. As the Grand Master of Thor Delar, his conviction has never waned, but he nows see alternate, less extreme ways about achieving its goal. The Horde, with its occuptation of much of Kalimdor, is a clear threat that will be removed, and to that end, the Alliance is a convenient arrangement for the time being. Biography Early Life Born of House Moonblaze, a family on the fringes of the Highborne Aristocracy, Loren'drethil was raised in the isolation of the Magocratic Citadel Eldre'Thalas, and immersed from a young age in a culture of magic, life-long study and political intrigue. Embracing his Highborne heritage with zeal, Loren'drethil displayed a remarkable natural affinity for the manipulation of the Arcane, and with the blessings of Elders of his House, sought enrollment at the Arcane Arts Academy of Eldre'Thalas in order to bring House Moonblaze prestige, expand its circle of influence and make a name for himself, for a fair maiden had caught his eye, one whose intellect rivaled her graceful beauty, yet she resided far beyond the reach of his current social status. Having impressed a Magister of the Academy with his dissertation and experiments on the Nether-though it may have been no coincidence the two were distant relatives-Loren'drethil was placed under Magister Varon'drethil's patronage and given a teaching/research position at the Academy, establishing himself as a resourceful arcanist amongst his peers. In time, Loren'drethil's parents relocated to Zin'Azshari, having secured positions as custodians at the Royal Library. Loren'drethil's brother, Astalor, departed with them, not for Zin'Azshari, but Suramar, as the Magister he was studying under had been reassigned. The House of Moonblaze, then fell largely upon Loren'drethil to uphold, as his two cousins had already married. War of the Ancients Due to the secretive nature of the Citadel, and its secluded location at the fringes of the Empire, Eldre'thalas was kept away from the brunt of the Legion's invasion during the War of the Ancients. Despite its relative safety, it was nonetheless discovered towards the end of the war, and endured a protracted siege. Cut off from reinforcements, each able Elf was mobilized in the defense of the citadel, Loren'drethil and his master included, and they took the opportunity to exercise their magical prowess with relish, for all the theoretical discourse in the world could not match the practical application of unbridled magics. As they were amongst the premier spellweavers Eldre'thalas had to offer, the faculty of the Arcande Arts Academy was merged with the Eldre'thalas Zin-Azshari Royal Auxiliary Guards battalion, which had then comprised mostly of upper nobility and an elite vanguard. Ever omniscient of his responsibilities to his House, Loren'drethil accepted this new post with great anticipation, and was even more delighted when he was assigned to be the personal guard to Lady Celathea. Though the intial siege had caught the defenders ill-prepared, the citadel was built into the mountains and offered limited vectors of assault. The situation soon stablized and a massive dome shield was projected over the city. The besieged were safe for now, but inevitably trapped. It was only a matter of time before the shield fell. As the temporary quietness gripped the city, the gravity of the situation began to sink in. Given the insular nature of the citadel, news of Queen Azshara's duplicity did not reach Eldre'Thalas until the Legion controlled vast swathes of Kalimdor, and even then, most would not believe the reports, decrying them as misinformation spread by defeatists. Prince Tor'theldrin continued his attempts to communicate with Zin-Azshari, and he was eventually convinced to lower the shield for an impending breakout to link up with reinforcements. Euphoric of an inevitable victory, many volunteered to be on the frontlines. Though the Magisters of Eldre'thalas were mighty scholars, many had not seen a pitched battle in millenia, and the young Loren'drethil was eager to prove his power to his ward. The night before the breakout, Loren'drethil, was suddenly made conscious of his own mortality, as he gazed from the ramparts upon the terrible Legion and a sky bereft of stars, but instead filled with felfire. He thought to admit his feelings to Celathea, but she placed a finger on his lips and bade him silent, for she had known all this time as she had read his mind. He still had much to learn, in the realm of magic, and in the realm of political manoeuvring. On the very next dusk, at first dark, the shield was let down and battle was joined. The forces of the citadel streamed out and smashed into the besiegers, making quick work on the Legion elements stationed in the valley that guarded the approach to Eldre'thalas. As the vanguard arrived at the crest of the hill, an unfathomable sight greeted their eyes and weakened their knees: For as far as the eye could see, was the Legion, and no help was in sight. Seizing the moment of confusion, the Legion surged forward in a vicious counterattack, and drove the forces of the citadel back behind walls in a genocidal rout. The outer walls fell the same day, and the various components of the defense force had to be reorganized into a single army. Furthermore, Varon'drethil had fallen during the retreat, and Loren'drethil was now left without a master. As the next most learned Magister in the realm of Nethermancy, Loren'drethil was appointed to Head the faculty without much oversight, but due to the nature of the situation, remained in his post. The effects of the dampening field over the Well of Eternity projected by Azshara's spellweavers were beginning to be felt too, and a miasmic lethargy began to grip the populace of the city. All hope seemed lost, until the elements of the Kaldorei Resistance, led by Goldrinn and an army of Ancients broke through the eastern flank and cleared a path to the gates. Though the Citadel was at first distructful of the rebellious forces, and nearly attacked them, the urgent situation was not lost on Prince Tor'theldrin, and he ordered another general breakout. This time, the battle proved as equally difficult as the last, and though the allied force was holding, each loss was irreplacable, whereas the Legion was unending. It seemed doom was their fate, and it would have been if not for the abrupt occurence of the Sundering, which began to draw the Legion back to the Well. Magically weakened, and disoriented by battle, Loren'drethil hastened back to the citadel with Celathea and his company, when the world back to lurch and heave. The city walls, damaged by the siege, rumbled ominously and sensing danger, Loren'drethil used his last remaining strength to shield the group from the rubble. It was to no avail, and the shield buckled without resistance, then Loren'drethil knew no more. The Interregnum Eldre'Thalas survived the violent turbulence, as the mountains to its side shielded it from the devouring waves and its location on the Western Coast of Kalimdor kept it far from the epicenter of the sundering continent. The city lay in ruins however, and without the Well of Eternity to draw from, the magical logistics that once powered the city effectively ceased to function. Cut off from outside aid, the populace of the city became divided and factional as sparse resources were fought over as order began to deteriorate into an anarchical chaos. That was, until Prince Tor'theldrin devised an ingenious solution that sated both the Highbornes' thirst for magic, sustained their immortality, and partially powered the magical facilities of the citadel. Drawing upon their vast knowledge of magic, the Highborne purged their siphoned energies of the Fel taint and restored some semblance of their post-Sundering normality, even beginning to rebuild what had been lost. Preoccupied with the immediate challenges of preserving of their past and indeed reclaiming what remained of their lives and the citadel with it, the Highborne of Eldre'thalas, once reclusive, now retreated almost entirely from the the rest of the world. What little forays they sent probing into Feralas reported no signs of civilization, and perhaps it was for the better, for while the denizens of Eldre'thalas were ignorant, it is also said that ignorance is bliss. This bliss they enjoyed as they continued to practice magic, while their remaining brethren were exiled to the Eastern Kingdoms by the interim Kaldorei government formed by a union of the Sisters of Elune and the Cenarion Enclave. With many of the existing pillars of society damaged by the Sundering, including the now defunct Arcane Arts Academy, Loren'drethil was elevated to an initiate within the Shen'dralar, the secretive parent organization of the Academy and granted access to the faction that had controlled the fate of Eldre'thalas from the shadows since the Sundering. Thousands of years passed (until circa 1100 PreVanilla), there was peace and arguably, even recovery and prosperity. Large portions of the city had been reclaimed and a sense of predictable normalcy had returned to the populace. It was during this time that Loren'drethil again met Lady Celathea, this time during a moonlight stroll in the Capital Gardens, and asked for her hand. Given the extraordinary circumstances, traditional customs and fanfare was passed in favour of a more personal union, and the two settled down together. With House Moonblaze further impowered due to his union, and his promotion to a Lorekeeper within the Shen'dralar, Lor'endrethil now was armed with vast resources he never imagined he pursued his research with renewed ambition, hoping to understand and discover innovative techniques of his own, much like those used by the senior spellweavers of the Shen'dralar to purify the demonic energies of Immolthar of the Fel taint. The Fall But it could not last. With each passing moon, Immolthar seemed to grow stronger, and the demands of the resurgent populace outpaced what energies could be siphoned. Before long, word of purges passed through hushed whispers in the Shen'dralar and a gripping tension permeated the city as the streets and public bazaars were deserted by the paranoid. It had begun. First, only the few Kaldorei servitors who had survived the Sundering were taken. But it was not enough. Not even close. The barriers had to be maintained. Nobody protested the atrocity. Everyone kept their heads down. Best not to be noticed. Then came the decree for the Highborne without membership in the Shen'dralar. Celathea's death sentence. Loren'drethil had only caught wind while eavesdropping behind a bookcase in the Aethereum. Despite all the time that had passed, he had remained only an regular lorekeeper and neither he nor his peers had ever expected to penetrate the shroud of mystery masking its true workings or the shadowy leadership. A double edged sword then perhaps, as he had never been entrusted with the unpleasant task of "disappearing" people, but was not privy to much knowledge beyond the resources he was provided to improve the magics of the barrier and siphoning process. Unable to stomache the madness that was consuming the society, Loren'drethil carried out a forbidden scrying ritual and caught traces of civilization beyond the citadel, but nothing of the cities he once knew. Affirmation of a land bereft of demons was all he sought, and it was enough. Convinced his destiny was not to live as a caged animal in perpetual fear, Loren'drethil gathered Celathea, and those he trusted, devising a plan to escape the city through tunnels in the lower levels that had been collapsed by the Sundering and since been overrun by manifestations of the Emerald Nightmare. Despite the urgency of the situation, it was with a mutual feeling of reluctance that Loren'drethil and his party met at dusk fall, timing their rendezvous precisely at the change of the guard. Though there was no alternative, leaving the city would leave them vulnerable to withdrawal effects and without the trappings of nobility they were accustomed to. Working furiously to clear the tunnels of debris and corruption, the group would have made their way beneath the outer gates were it not for one of Loren'drethil's colleagues acting as an informant and summoning a unit from the Prince's guard to detain the party. Faced with an execution, Loren'drethil, Celathea, and their two remaining friends collapsed the tunnels and opened it to the sea, cutting them off from their planned exit, but blocking their pursuers from giving chase. As the tunnels filled with water, the party squeezed through a crevice and were flushed into the an underground cavern which opened up into a cave on the coast. End of the Line Initially, unsure of what to do and completely lost due to the incompatibility of the geography with their outdated maps, the party spotted the twin colossals in the distance and gauged that the city of Isildien would not be far off. However, Lady Celathea was soon stricken with a burning fever and made unfit to walk. Her eyes became clouded with a greenish tinge and she slipped in and out of consciousness, seemingly less in touch with her surroundings each time she woke. Unbeknownst to the group who had no understanding of Druidism or the Emerald Nightmare, Celathea had inhaled spores from corrupted lashers during their escape and resultantly contracted some kind of infection. In blind desperation, Lor'endrethil threw caution to the winds and decided to follow what appeared to be a well worn path north. The party took turns watching Celathea when they slept, as her condition worsened and she began oscillating between moments of pure horror and a deathly calm, whispering in an unknown tongue to a being only she could perceive. Finally, the group came to a Moonwell, a relieving mark of civilization, and decided to rest there for some time. Loren'drethil had never had time for religion, but now he whispered fervent prayers for the group's salvation. Meanwhile, Loren'drethil companions had discovered in a nearby ruin traces of latent magic, arcane echoes which when coalesced, formed a mysterious message of a kind, with a magical signature known only to those from Eldre'thalas. Other escapees had left a clue as to where they had gone, and Loren'drethil's party decided to track them once Celathea's condition had been addressed. Things finally came to a head, as a bloodcurdling scream sprung Loren'drethil from his sleep one night and he came to the horrific scene of Celathea strangling his friend with an unholy strength. Almost simultaneously sounded a war horn, and the party, now minus a companion with a broken neck, found themselves in a grove surrounded at all sides by Huntresses and notched arrows. Before Lor'endrethil could do anything, Celathea lunged for the nearest Huntress and she was pounced upon by a hitherto concealed ursine Druid, who mauled her unceremoniously and flung her savaged body against the cliff face with a sickening crunch. Loren'drethil opened his mouth to scream, but was struck with a shaft laced with sedative and collapsed instantaneously. A New Era Detention When he came to, Loren'drethil and his remaining colleague were imprisoned within the Barrow Deeps beneath Hyjal, and would remain there under indefinite detention for refusing to co-operate in the Kaldorei's interrogations. There were suspicions as to who he was, given his attire and the staff he had on him at the time of his arrest, thus he was thus placed into a magically warded cell designed to prevent any attempts at casting. After several weeks into confinement, Loren'drethil's chance to escape presented itself into the form of Tyrande's raid to rescue Illidan Stormrage. Unaware of the situation at the time - or of who the two even were - Loren'drethil seized upon the moment as the passing battle damaged the magical stones which had maintained the wards on his cell, and was barely able to gather the strength to force open the doors to his cell after the intruders had passed on. Weakened from his exertion and feeling the pangs of his magical addiction, Loren'drethil shambled weakly towards the Warden's quarters and retrieved his belongings, while relieving the dead elf of some extra clothing and other supplies. With no inkling as to where he was, he continued to follow the trail of carnage from which the raiders had come and eventually found his way onto the surface. Dizzy and nauseous, he was spared for the moment as he came upon a Moonwell by the entrance to the Barrow Dens and cast aside any reservations about Elune's judgement, scrambling to its edges and basking into the arcane radiance. It was as if he were reborn, and all the pains and flaws about him were erased from existence. Where moments before had been a pathetic and frail creature now, there was now a restored air of dignity, or rather, indignance. Suddenly becoming all too aware of how exposed he was in the clearing, he reached into his travel pack and retrieved several vials, beforing filling them with the sacred waters. Elune had done him no favours in this life, and she certainly had not helped Celathea in her moment of need either. Help it seemed, would have to be taken. Free at Last? With that, Loren'drethil set off grimly into this an alien land, populated by an alien people, afflicted by a condition wrought by the very magic he had held so dear. His only guide: the hope that he would find the group of Highborne who had also escaped. It was possible the message his party had found was a carefully laid trap by the Prince, but Loren'drethil had little choice at this point. He would have withered away had he remained in his cell, and nobody would now believe his innocence, not with the slaughter that had taken place in the Barrow Deeps. Though Loren'drethil was loathe to stick to the main path, he saw no other option. From what he had gathered in his time in prison, a group of Kaldorei known as Druids had come to wield enormous influence on what remained of the Empire, and of it, a Sisterhood of Elune ran the government. He had heard no mention of Magi or magic, and therefore assumed he must've been held in some rural backwater of the Empire, but he couldn't be sure until he was properly informed. Either way, he wouldn't fare well at all off the main path in the uncultivated woods of this place, especially not in his condition. The best option, he determined, was to impersonnate a travelling tradesman until he could escape from this backwater. From his reception, it would appear the rabble would hardly appreciate his nobility. Eventually, the trail he followed merged with a larger path that sloped up and down the mountain. Even from such a distance, the titanic world tree of Nordrassil was visible, rising proudly beyond the forests and peaks to reach for the stars. Loren'drethil was uncertain what in the fel would have enabled a tree to have grown to such a gargantuan size, and was overtaken with a burning curiosity, despite his weariness. He sensed a great power emanating from the tree, and the very air seemingly hummed in a fashion he had not experienced in a lifetime. It reminded him of...the Well. The Well of Eternity. There was no mistakening. But this source of power was also weaker, different. It was clearly not the same, even if the Well had somehow been relocated atop this mountain in an unnamed backwater. Loren'drethil tore his gaze away from the tree, and turned his attention to the other direction. There wasn't much to see, actually. The view wasn't so different from the top path leading to the gigantic tree, except that that was no tree on this side. Only the dark, menancing embrace of unbroken forests stretching to the horizon. How could this be? He was in the middle of nowhere. Feeling sick, Loren'drethil nearly dropped to his knees, but managed to catch himself, settling for an awkward lurch forward with a half-step. Steadying himself with deep breaths and emptying his mind of emotion, as if he were about to teleport, the Highborne elf continued his unplanned sally forward, and across the road where a lone lantern stood. As he leaned on it for support, his attention came to scrutinize the lantern, which too, was unlike what he was accustomed to. It was too simple, too crude. Loren'drethil wondered if he had been captured by some renegade faction of lowborne who had resorted to barbarism, and if the raiders on his prison were in fact his saviours. Giving in to physical exhaustion and emotional shock, Loren'drethil decided to wait for them to return and determine then, if they were allies. The road here was widened into a clearing of sorts and it showed some signs of having been previously camped at, perhaps by the same raiding party. Noticing a well concealed ledge overlooking the road, Loren'drethil gathered his remaining reserves of mental fortitude and blinked up, arriving to the sight of a large hollowed out trunk with an arch cut into its center leading into it from the ledge. The trunk had somehow become lodged in an alcove on the cliff face, and seemed secure enough, with no obvious access way. The interior showed signs of having been previously inhabited, with some manner of rough trinkets and ornamentation hanging from the ceiling, while well-worn furs lined the floors - upon which a single chair carved from solid wood was placed overlooking the cliff. At any rate, the abode had seemingly been abandoned for some time and Loren'drethil was in no mood to ponder these trivialities. If the owner returned, he, or most likely, it, would be disposed of. Slumping down heavily into the chair, Loren'drethil dropped his travel sack to the side and closed his eyes. Whatever the source was, the power that was emanating from the Great Tree had soothed his headache and staved off his craving, for now at least. His body was sore and ached however, for it was unaccustomed to the hardships of the road - indeed, Loren'drethil had to constantly steer his mind away from how he had managed to end up in such a predicament - but he could not afford to sleep, lest he missed the raiding party on its way back. He would meditate then, of course. Where he had once done so to focus his energies for the casting of a potent spell, he now did so to empty his mind of bereaving thoughts. Pampered scholar he was, but fool he was not. He had not survived so long only to succumb to foolishness - no, this trial now was a test of his ability in a true practical sense beyond the scriptures. Hours passed, and the dawn approached, yet there was still no sign of the returning warband. Had they taken another route? Or had the renegades unleashed some manner of Druidic monstrosity upon them? Loren'drethil opened his eyes, stood up to stretch, surveyed the valley beneath him. Though his magical pangs had subsided, Loren'drethil now felt the stirrings of another hunger, and licked his parched lips. Parched! To think that he would have one day found himself in such a despicable situtation would have been inconcievable. Anything would have been better than remaining in Eldre'thalas however, not with the madness that had gripped it, and the bleak future that would have likely found him eventually as well. His extended family within the city had already been taken, and Loren'drethil had been too scared to do anything then. Celathea though - No! Loren'drethil angrily suppressed those thoughts - the guilt, anger and pain he had relived each day of his imprisonment threatened to come bursting out, but he instead snarled and lashed out furiously. Crack! Loren'drethil was struck in his forearm by a pebble, and the pain jolted him from his stupor. Blinking, and hacking from the dust, Loren'drethil leaned on the chair for support. His hunger for mana had been sated, at least temporarily, but casting still took a considerable toll. As the haze cleared, Loren'drethil's handiwork showed itself. The raw, reckless outpour of magic had pulverized the bedrock of the cliff face, blasting open a gaping hole leading to some subterrannean cavern. Chastising himself inwardly for his lack of discipline, Loren'drethil hurried scanned the raod below for any activity lest he had attracted attention, but all was still save the flocks he had sent to the skies. Curiosity overtook the Magister, and he hefted his staff, allowing the pulsing glow of its jewels to light to way down. Stepping down the haphazard rubble, Loren'drethil's ear perked up at the sound of trickling water. Now before you get ahead of yourself, no, the thought of drinking from some brackish underground acquifer had never occurred to him - but for the moment, he was removed from his troubles and felt the curiosity of adventure not had since he was a fool lad. Sure enough, the rock underfoot eventually gave way to a rushing river that cut the cavern in two, and it led straight to the mouth of a cave! Lengthening his stride, Loren'drethil came upon a panorama of far reaching forests below, winding along valleys further and further down until they met at a pass guarding the way past the mountain. Euphoria turned to despair as the magnificent view inspired only horror in him, that is, until he made out what seemed to be an outpost of sorts near the mountain pass. Thoughts raced through his mind as weaving wisps, as he scrambled to make sense of what to do. How long had he been here for? He checked the skies. Nearly a night. The question was whether or not he was to wait for the warband to pass, or to simply teleport to the mountain pass once he had gathered his strength. But neither of that would do for now would it? It seemed he was tied to this place, until he could find a way to cure himself of his addiction. Cursing under his breath, Loren'drethil pondered the possibilities, but was ultimately defeated. He was trapped here, in the middle of the wilds, with nothing for company save his thirst for mana. Overthinking would do no good now. He had to tend to himself and set up camp. It seemed he was here to stay. Over the next few Moons, the cavern was transformed into a barely habitable residence, if you could call it that. Loren'drethil had possessed the foresight to prepare as many mana gems as his pack could carry, notwithstanding his other personal effects, and was now afforded the luxury of brushing up his temporary home however slightly. Fine rugs now covered the cold, rock floors of the cavern, and the chamber was illuminated by a rune powered lantern hung from the ceiling, which cast a soft blue hue upon everything within. A slab of rock near the waterfall had been shaped into the figure of a bed, and was bedecked with an Azsharian silken mattress, replete with a duvet and pillows filled with goose down. To its side, another slab of rock took the form of a marble counter-top, on top of which sat a bowl of exquisite fruit, a bottle of Elderberry wine half buried in a sheathe of perma-ice, and a platter of assorted cuts of meat. Several books and all the tools of a scholar were laid next to these things of course, and a cushioned armchair, a real chair this time, accompanied the set. The constant cacophony of the subterranean river did prove to be quite a nuisance initially, but its course had been dammned, widened, and deepened such that it became a circular pool, with the flow and temperature kept to an acceptable standard by a bound Water Elemental. As was said, the accomodation was barely liveable, but Loren'drethil made do. He couldn't afford to burn through his mana supply without first becoming independent of his addiction. To this end, he was blessed, as his expertise in Nethermancy and personal experience with the siphoning and purification process of the Void Terror Immol'thar had granted him some ideas. This place, where ever it was, did present the boon of allowing him to experiment on various solutions without the hunger for mana. Loren'drethil was certain he'd be able to ease himself off his dependency in time. After all, the Kaldorei had relied only on the natural leylines before learning to harness the powers of the Well. All that was at stake, was the small matter of immortality. He would have to teach himself to limit the magnitude and amplitude of his spells too, lest he overexert himself. Physical Description Loren'drethil posesses a visage unblemished by his long years, though his silvery white eyes would betray a somberness reserved only for the weary. A veil hides high cheekbones, a long thin nose, and curved jaw. Voluminous, straight silver hair frames his face closely, draping down to his chest and shoulder blades. Loren'drethil is tall, even by Kaldorei standards, towering at 7'6. His form is slim, as befitting a scholarly bookworm, but clearly lean - whether due to regular exercise or careful diet is undiscernable. Immaculately well kept, each piece of clothing is selected and positioned carefully for maximum effect. Eschewing traditional robes in an unusual departure from his social ettiqutte, Loren'drethil favours a combination of ornamental finery and practical functionality in the style of a Battlemage. A tassled rapier is worn on his belt and a simple, but finely crafted staff adorns his back. Personality Loren'drethil has a tendency for xenophobia, but is gradually learning to accept the permanence of other peoples on Azeroth. He is quick to judge but listens deeply, reads extensively, then voices his thoughts. He fancies himself as manipulative and cunning, though such traits were commonplace in the society he has dwelt in for much of his life. As a result of the losses he has suffered in his life, his personality has become serious and driven, allowing him to hide his pain behind a mask of busyness. Quotes Quotes are optional. You can delete this field or comment it out by putting around it. Trivia Trivia is optional. You can delete this field or comment it out by putting around it. External Links Armory: Loren'drethil Moonblaze Category:Characters Category:Mage Category:Highborne